Collisions with Planet Melancholia
Return and retourne and return
The white flash
Ushers in death and dusted rebirth.
I blink. An illusion.
Time to consume. Things to buy. Things to fix.
Time goes nowhere, hastily,
Chucking its waxed-paper dolls from windows rolled down just enough to press the detritus into the expanse of gravel and dried weed, where prairie dogs howl silent in snow dappled fields.
The white flash.
Comments Off on